


Zooming Particles and Racing Hearts

by citrussnap



Category: Glee
Genre: 04x14, Character Study, M/M, Missing Scene, Reaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrussnap/pseuds/citrussnap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine knows he needs this, but that doesn't mean he has time to process why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zooming Particles and Racing Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend.

Blaine's heart was beating so hard it hurt to breath.

This was what he needed, this physical touch, but it was a painful balm. It was the sort of thing that caused Blaine to remember that he wasn't particles zooming and bouncing around whatever space he could fill. It reminded him that he could be contained, that it was okay to be contained, and that his skin was big (and thick) enough to hold everything that was flying around in his head.  He needed that. He needed to feel like he was a complete and normal person. He needed to be there, with someone who was willing and knew how to remind him, desperately.  He just wished the reminder didn't _hurt._

A painful bit of therapy wasn't the only reason Blaine was in this hotel room that tried so desperately to be posh but came off as so achingly Midwestern Ohio.  This place, and this person, was special beyond the physical.  This person was special enough that it made the smiles and laughter that escaped from Blaine seem so natural -- like he was a source of it, and when they'd been apart it was harder to remember the how's and why's of being human.

That was a romanticized assessment because Blaine _had_ learned to cope, to make do with what he could get from those still near him.  It hurt to be reminded how easy it was to forget all that struggle to move on and slip right back to this.

Blaine had learned, over the months, to content himself with the firm hugs of friends, or the warm praise a pat on the arm could provide. It was different though, to be the object of this kind of want.

And it was just so _nice_ to be wanted.

It was nice to be pushed down on a softly upholstered car seat, or this overly formal hotel bed, and have familiar hands tug over, then under, his dress clothes until he could feel fingers digging into his ribs. It was nice to feel soft lips brush against his jawline while the smell of a woodsy cologne and citrus styling product filled the air around him.

Better still were the whispered words, begging for consent and filling the room like mumbled prayers.

 _"Can I?"_ Then shirts and ties were removed and two sets of hands were scrambling to touch and admire all the skin set out on display.

 _"Is this okay?"_ Blaine could only grunt his approval when fingers hesitated at his fly. Their bodies separated for a moment while the rest of their clothes were shed, and Blaine scrambled forward to straddle hips and kiss the most beautiful collar bones he'd ever seen.  
  
Not that he'd seen a lot of collar bones – but he had seen a lot of beautiful.

 _"You're always beautiful. Always, always, always."_ Blaine hadn't even realized he'd spoken aloud until he'd gotten a response, but it didn't matter, and the grinning face across from him seemed to agree. He didn't even try to stop the throaty mix of laughter and whining that pushed past his lips.  

Blaine doesn't want to be needy, but he has long suspected that he is. That suspicion increased every time hushed praise was whispered into his throat or as gentle, insistent friction built between his and the body wrapped around him. His fingers kept twitching as he fought with where to put them next and the desire to just beg for more. There was too much to touch and he felt drunk on more than the half a bottle of champagne he'd had earlier.

He wants, and he has always had this deep aching want that he can never name, but at least he has a focus for it. Limbs tangled further and their combined weight sent them tumbling to a more comfortable position. Blaine's eyes squeezed shut like the light in the room was blinding him when, really, the only light came from weak beam peeping out from the slightly ajar bathroom door. Everything was dimly lit and soft edged and Blaine couldn't sort out whether he wanted that blanket or wanted to be rutting in the middle of the day where he could see everything and be seen.

His mind shut down at around this point and even awareness of himself in this moment was hard to grasp. Everything became just skin rubbing against bare skin -- kisses and gasps --  and his back would arch with every swipe of tongue or sharp thrust that pushed him into the mattress while he valiantly tried to find a rhythm to thrust back up and against the hips holding him together.

_"Open your eyes. Please, please, please…"_

When Blaine's eyes did crack open it was dark orbs surrounded by electric blue that greeted him.  The mouth that had previously been sucking a probably impressive bruise on the hollow of his throat had become so, so pink that Blaine doesn't believe that color could exist anywhere else. A soft cry slips from that pink mouth and Blaine feels a warm mess spread across his stomach.

Oh, and there was no reason for why _that_ should feel so good.

But it was good. Good enough that, combined with the grinding hips and pants of both of them, it made his own body twist as release rush through him. It was good enough that he tasted blood from where he bit down roughly on his own lip to stop from just screaming a thank you or apology or blessing.

It didn't bother Blaine when the wetness between their bodies started to cool – not when the thing stopping it from being uncomfortable was the body heat and weight above him. It didn't bother him how hoarse his breathing sounded.

His body felt like he'd been singing for hours and his mind wanted to go out, still bare assed and sticky, and sing some more.

"You're bleeding."

"Yeah," Blaine agreed. He swallowed, his throat burning from the effort.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm here. I feel _here_ for the first time in months."

There was a long pause. "I should get us cleaned up."

Blaine shifted, already shivering even before the body heat was even gone. He nodded. "Yeah. It's been a long day," he said. "We could…" he turned his head, looking toward the other side of the bed. That half didn't even look disturbed. It still had a mint on the pillow.

"Yeah. It's – I don't think we shou--  I promised my dad I'd be home tonight."  Blaine's mind, still spongy from orgasm and trying to catch up on the conversation, registered the light in the room shifting and changing as the door to the bathroom shut. He could hear water running and his own breathing. Nothing else.

He was here, he hadn't lied. His skin tingled and burned in a way that distinctively made him aware of every electric impulse that bounced from nerve to nerve in his body.

Blaine shuffled across the bed, disturbing the offending neatness, and snatched the mint off the neighboring pillow. The sickly sweet wintergreen coated his tongue as he cleaned the worst of the mess of his stomach with tissues from the nightstand. He needed a shower. He needed to figure out where their clothes went. He needed two more hours in this hotel room.

It struck him funny, as he made lists of how things could go when that bathroom door opened and what he needed to do, how quickly good sex could recharge him and simultaneously drain him.  

From the bathroom, Blaine could hear the water shut off and quiet humming replace it. He took a deep breath to steady himself and scanned the floor for his boxers. This wasn't going to be the last time. Not for them. Friends were fantastic, but this was no friendship.  
  
Knowing that brought a smile to his face. 


End file.
